Real
by Nerikla
Summary: Nobody's perfect. Rated for substance abuse and very slight slash.


The room was noisier than usual tonight, with a loud game of cards in one corner and several boys attempting to play marbles on the floor. On the bottom of one of the bunks Skittery was detailing his last date to several listeners who made rude comments, and Jake was yelling because someone had hidden his hat again.

Only two boys were quiet. One, a dark-haired boy with deep-set brown eyes, continued to glance at the other boy. The two pretended not to trade looks, but their agitation was obvious.

"Kid…c'mon, let's go," Racetrack said in a low voice, his hard body tensed.

"Not yet!" Blink shook his head, rubbing at the place where the string of his eye patch brushed against his forehead, "let's wait. Just a few minutes more…"

"It's late enough," Racetrack frowned, leaning against the bedpost. He hooked one of his thumbs behind a suspender, "doan' want it to be too late."

They eyed the room, watching the carefree boys. There was constantly motion, a flurry of hands and fists and mouths. Noisy laughter broke out at the card game. None of them wanted Racetrack to join: the boy had an inexplicable luck with cards and several newsies suspected that he was simply good at cheating.

Blink cleared his throat, and then nodded. "Okay," He finally agreed, sounding torn. He headed towards the stairs, his stride easy and assured. The boys would be fine without them for an hour or so.

Without announcing their exit, the two hurried down the staircase. Blink had a guilty look on his face, while his Italian friend looked infuriated. They snuck past Kloppman, who was humming to himself and counting coins. The stringy, graying man looked up when he heard the door slam, but shrugged and muttered that he was getting too old to run a Lodging House.

The street was dark, even darker than usual because the nearest streetlamp broken. The night was a wet one, leaving the ground slippery and the air cold. Every so often a rustle of clothing could be heard, or the sound of a muffled yell. New York was no fairyland at night; it was dangerous, and Blink was a little afraid.

He was glad to have Racetrack with him. The boy had his head on straight and he was friends with some of the darker characters of Manhattan. Racetrack knew the way almost by heart. They slipped into an alleyway, and then into another. Blink continuously looked over his shoulder, and at one point found that his entire body was shivering. He could barely move his fingers.

"Keep up," Racetrack reprimanded the blonde, knowing that Blink was falling behind without even turning his head. They had made this trip so many times…too many times, if Racetrack had anything to say about it.

No apology was made. Blink simply swallowed hard and trotted closer. There was no telling who might show up around the next turn. His heart almost stopped when a yowl came from behind them, and he spun around quickly only to see a tomcat slipping into the shining darkness.

It was unusually quiet tonight. If Blink let himself think, fears and worries overtook his mind. He concentrated on the slight rippling of Racetrack's shirt as the boy moved silently down the street.

It started to rain, a fine mist that left the two boys even colder. Finally Racetrack came to a halt, his eyes fixed on a doorway as he turned towards it. A wooden sign hung beside the door, the letters carved onto it too shallow to see despite the streetlamp nearby. 

"I hate this," Racetrack said suddenly, his jaw set.         

"I know," Blink replied quietly, and then moved towards the door. Taking a last breath of the fresh, moist air, he jerked the door open and headed into the smoky, noisy room.

The air inside was almost gray, it was so smoke-ridden. Cigars and cigarettes hung out of the fat mouths of every half-sober man there. Obscenities that Blink had learned at his father's knee littered every conversation, if the men's coarse ramblings could be called that.

Blink found what he was looking for almost immediately. Racetrack stood a foot to his left, scowling to himself.

A young man sat at the bar, his brown haired head tipped slightly forward. He was hunched around a mug, which seemed to be the focal point of his attention. He had a tanned face, with slightly muscled arms shown off by the blue sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His shoulders blocked his face from view.

"Hey," Blink said softly, tapping him on the shoulder. The brown-haired boy turned around, his gaze a little unclear.

"Whossat?" The boy asked, and then laughed as a large grin spread across his handsome face. "Oh, Kid, 's you! I was…I was 'fraid it was the bulls again, y'know, 'cause y'know they sure doan' like it when I come here, an' I was _just thinkin' 'bout you, y'know that? Just thinkin'!"_

Blink's smile was sad. "You were, Jack? Imagine that."

"I was, honest! Sit down, Kid, sit down an' I'll getcha somethin'. I'll pay, I'll pay fer you, 'cause yer my best friend in the world. The _whole world!"_

"Naw, that's okay, Jack. Listen. We gotta go home now, it's time to go to bed."

"Bed? Me? I doan' need bed! I ain't a two-year-old, Kid, I can drink when I wan' and stay out when I wan' an'– "

Jack's rambling was cut off by an almost-snarling Racetrack. "You stupid _shit, Jack! Lookit you! You're slobbering like you're a baby. You gotta get home for the _boys,_you idiot, unless you've forgotten them too!"_

"Stoppit, Race, stoppit! Lemme just have _one_ more, kay? Then I'll go with you. Jus' one…"

Racetrack's shouting had caught the attention of the large, slightly overweight bouncer. When he was signaled, the bartender came over with an annoyed expression and told them to keep it down. 

Blink was helping his larger friend stand, ignoring his jumbled protests. For once Jack had managed to pay for the drinks he had ordered, so the bartender watched them go without a protest.

"No, stoppit! C'mon, Blink, lemme _go!_ I'm not drunk, lookit, I can stand an' all!" Jack protested loudly, vainly struggling against the body that propped him up. He leaned heavily on Blink in a moment of defeat.

"You promised, Jack. You promised," Racetrack growled, spinning to jab a finger at the large boy's chest before angrily clearing the way for the two. He pushed his shoulders against the older men who were crowding the bar, swearing under his breath.

Blink had never seen his friend so angry. He concentrated on helping Jack through the room, which was proving hard enough. The tall boy had stopped turning around or begging for beer and was now smiling to himself.

The bouncer glared at them as they left, his brass knuckles glinting in the dim lighting. Oscar had brass knuckles, Blink thought absently. Maybe all of the big, ugly men who bullied people did.

Once they made it down the stairs and the door was shut, the street was so quiet that it almost hurt. The rain has stopped, but now everything was a little colder and darker. Jack was the first to break the silence.

"Hey, I was jus' thinkin,' uh…can I borrow, Blink, 'cause I doan' have 'nough for papes t'morrow _and Klopp'm, so…"_

"Sure, Cowboy," The blonde staggered a little under Jack's weight. He was too afraid to ask for assistance from Racetrack…the boy tended to have explosive moments of anger. At least Jack's body kept him warm.

"You guys are my _best friends…I mean, ya doan' see the other guys comin' here and findin' me, an' payin'-" Jack began again._

"I ain't payin' for you," Racetrack interjected darkly.

Jack continued as though he hadn't noticed, "-an' I mean, who'd wanna be friends wit' me? I'm so _stupid…_so _stupid!" He tried to jerk away from Blink, but when he was stopped he simply crumpled on top of the boy._

"Yeah, we know," Racetrack frowned, "I dunno why, either."

"Race!" Blink glared, and then awkwardly patted Jack on the arm, "You're not stupid, Jack…just stop drinking. Just stop, okay? For me an' Race. You can do it."

"Stop…" Jack repeated with a moan, burying his face, which made Blink stumble again, "jus' make it stop spinnin.' Stop…"

"Doan' you throw up on me," Blink warned.

            It was inevitable. Jack shrugged Blink off and staggered to the side of the road, and proceeded to throw up. It was nasty business and Blink patted the boy's back in an attempted gesture of comfort. Jack stood up and then doubled over yet again.

            Racetrack tried to block the sound out. He felt like he might lose his dinner, too.

            Finally, with several more abrupt stops, the boys made it to the Lodging House. The sky was still brutally dark, and they found that Kloppman had locked the doors. Jack had sobered up slightly and swore.

            Narrowing his eyes, Racetrack fished for something in his pockets. He messed with the cheap lock on the door and after some time had elapsed, the lock clicked and the door was opened cautiously.

            "C'mon, Klopp's asleep," Racetrack hissed, holding the door wide. Jack could walk unsteadily on his own, though Blink shadowed him closely. Holding his breath, Racetrack shut the door carefully and locked it again. 

            The trip up the stairs felt prolonged and drawn out. Jack kept bumping into each step and telling the others in a loud, excited whisper to be quiet. 

When they reached the top, Racetrack warned Jack in a low voice, "Be quiet yerself, Kelly, or I'll hit you."

Jack grinned dumbly and nodded, then was led to his bed by a tired Blink. He untied his bandana with unsteady fingers and dropped it on the floor, doing the same with his boots, which made a distinctly louder sound.

He lay back in his bed, still dressed in his clothing. Blink sighed quietly and watched Jack fall asleep, his eyelids fluttering before his muscles relaxed. There were drunken tears captured in the boy's dark eyelashes.

"I'll kill him," Racetrack swore with quiet vehemence, "just watch me. He does this again, an' I'll kill him."

Blink said nothing. That was what his friend always said.

It was a sad pattern, one that they were careful to not let the others know about. It would be disheartening for the boys to know that their proclaimed leader drowned his troubles in alcohol.

Once, Jack had hoped for Sante Fe. At one point he had saved his money for the trip, excitement on his face whenever he spoke about the prospective journey to meet his imaginary parents. 

But now, that dream was tarnished. Life was complicated and clogged with worries. Everyone had secrets. Everyone hid from their fears somehow.

Blink watched Racetrack angrily strip down to his underlayers and then crawl up the post into bed. Curling up into a ball, his lithe body betrayed his agitation. 

A slight smile crossed the one-eyed boy's face, the same sad one from before. He watched his Italian friend a moment more, before sitting on the bed below.

 Everyone had secrets, though sometimes Blink wondered how others could not guess his. 

- - - - -

**Author's Note:** I'm back. Surprised?

I took a break from the Newsie fandom for a little while. School and plays and sports all mixed together have kept me away from the keyboard, but I had to sit down and type this story out once it invaded my mind.

I like this as a one-shot, though if there is overwhelming interest I might write another chapter or two.

**-Steph**


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